A Duel for Honor
A deathly hush had settled over the ballroom.
The nobles were too stunned to close their mouths. The man standing before them—eyes glazed and bloodshot as if pickled in alcohol and drugs, body gaunt and unwashed as though he hadn't bathed in days, soaked through by the rain and reduced to a beggar's wretchedness—was really the Third Prince of the royal family, Andre.
"Tch~ Fate's a cruel thing, isn't it?"
A slurred voice dribbled out of Andre's mouth.
"Somebody got expelled from Kizen, and his claim to the throne went straight down the drain. Real bottom-feeder material now."
Andre's dead eyes turned toward Simon.
"And somebody else got everything he ever wanted! Dressed up all fancy in designer clothes! With a pretty girl hanging off each arm! Living it up, havin' the time of his life! Heh! Hah……!"
PUHAHAHAHAHA!
His laughter—equal parts mockery and self-loathing—echoed through the entire ballroom. Every time his body swayed, drops of rainwater fell and stained the red carpet.
"Tch~ The nerve! The absolute nerve! The bastard who dragged my life into the gutter, crawling all the way here!"
"Your Highness—brother!"
Princess Molly rushed over, pale with terror.
"I told you clearly not to come in here……!"
"Shut your mouthhh!"
Andre's convulsive shriek made even Molly flinch to a halt.
"Did you think I was still afraid of you?! I've got nothing left to lose! I've already hit rock bottom—what is there left to fear?! H-heh! HAHAHAHA!"
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. The nobles had begun to whisper among themselves at the strange turn of events—and for good reason. Andre himself was royalty, one of the honored guests of this ball, and for this one night, no one could defy him.
Then Andre's gaze locked directly onto Simon.
"……"
Meeting that stare, Simon rose from his seat.
"Simon."
Lorraine rose beside him and stepped in front of him.
"There's no need to engage someone who's out of his mind."
"Thank you for worrying. But this is mine to handle."
Now that he was tangled up with Andre at Kizen, perhaps this confrontation had always been inevitable.
Simon, who had stepped into the mud of his own accord, swallowed the surge of emotions rising in his chest and offered a formal bow.
"It is an honor to see you, Your Highness."
Andre's shoulders shook with laughter. Each time his boots struck the carpet, they made a squelching sound like something had deflated inside them.
"Shameless bastard! Utterly shameless! This is all because of you! If you'd handled the Duel Evaluation with even a shred of common sense, none of this would have happened!"
What Andre meant by "common sense" was that when his protégé Malcolm had donned the Black Knight armor, Simon should have thought of the royal family's dignity and deliberately thrown the match.
Simon lifted his head.
"I did nothing more than my best in every situation, as I swore at the entrance ceremony."
His voice was even and toneless as he laid out his words.
"Exploiting a fellow student's weakness to use him like a servant. Blackmailing students with the Noble faction's power. Monopolizing club funds and embezzling them for personal use. Every one of those was your doing, Your Highness."
All that had happened was the risk of those actions coming home to roost. That was what Simon was saying.
"Bullshit!"
Andre's face flushed crimson with drink as he jabbed a finger at Simon.
"Do you even know why traditions are traditions?! When the precedents of the past harden into culture, that's what becomes tradition! Was I the only one doing wrong? Using club power? Fudging the budget? Everyone does it! Only the fools who don't lose out—that's reality!"
More and more force bled into his voice.
"That's why I did it—and then, by some rotten luck, you happened! If you'd abandoned the Duel Evaluation the moment you saw the royal R insignia on that armor, like tradition demanded, none of this would exist! You broke tradition, and everything spiraled out of control! What kind of lunatic beats down someone wearing the royal Black Knight armor?!"
"Traditions like that."
Simon closed his eyes.
"Are no concern of mine."
A low murmur ran through the crowd. He had said it with such force that the nobles wore expressions of open astonishment.
"And let me correct your vocabulary. Not tradition. Corruption."
"You little—!"
The moment Andre flew into a rage and lunged at Simon, the Black Knights—the royal family's elite knights—seized him by both arms.
"Your Highness."
"Unhand me!"
Andre wrenched his arms violently, throwing them off.
"Fine. Good. If you're going to look down on me with that smug little face—!"
Andre strode off, not toward Simon, but in an entirely different direction.
"Then I'll shatter you with the very tradition you broke!"
The crowd parted around him like the sea before a prow.
"Ah~ This is developing into the worst possible scenario."
Serne murmured.
Andre was headed for the execution platform. He climbed atop the scaffold draped in every manner of creeping vine and rang the bell hanging there.
"I am Andre Dresden, heir to the king's blood! Simon Polentia!"
His finger swung toward Simon.
"I challenge you to a duel!"
SHHHAAAAAAA!
The sheets of rain had grown even heavier than before.
A wide open courtyard stretched before the banquet hall, where the guests had gathered with umbrellas raised. At its center, two young men faced each other in the downpour.
"Simon, it's not too late to back out."
Lorraine was trying to talk him down, her black hair already soaked through.
"He might look like that, but he's a second-year of Kizen who's survived everything the academy could throw at him. This fight is reckless."
Serne nodded along.
"I agree as well. A second-year as an opponent is a bit much, don't you think~"
For once, the two of them were in complete agreement.
There was a saying that a single Kizen second-year was worth ten first-years—and the students who had endured hellish competition and crushing stress to reach their second year were exceptional without question. In practical terms, it was a fight between a grown adult and an infant. The mere fact that a match had been sanctioned at all was absurd.
"Then obviously it should be a handicap match."
Andre said with a crooked grin.
Even Andre, the very man who had issued the challenge, knew perfectly well that the matchup made no sense.
This duel is for the restoration of my honor.
Andre wanted a victory he could hold his head high over. He couldn't stomach winning the duel only to be branded a coward who tormented his own juniors.
"Name anything. Shall we limit it to first-year dark magic? Or forfeit if you move from your spot? Forfeit the use of one limb at a time?"
That was precisely why the match had to be weighed down with handicaps—so that when he won, his honor would be all the greater.
But Simon shook his head.
"I don't need handicaps."
"Then—"
At that moment, Lorraine stepped forward.
Students were assets of Kizen, and Kizen bore a duty to shield them from outside pressure.
"I will personally provide him one form of assistance."
Andre's brow furrowed.
Kizen folk through and through. I knew they'd pull something like this.
If the handicaps came from his side, it would look like royal magnanimity—it rankled that they insisted on stacking bonuses onto the other side instead.
"Fine, that works. But there's a condition!"
Andre spread his arms wide.
"If Simon loses even with your help, you will kneel beneath my fields and press your forehead to the dirt. Surely you'd only offer help with that level of resolve?"
It was an empty provocation, spat out because he knew there was no chance it would be accepted.
But—
"Agreed."
Lorraine nodded with perfect equanimity. Instead, it was Andre and the watching nobles who were thrown into confusion—and Simon was no different.
"Lo-Lorraine!"
"You just have to win, don't you?"
She said it as if it were nothing at all. Simon scratched the side of his head.
"W-well, that's true, but……"
"Then we're settled."
Andre let out a sinister chuckle.
"Though I wonder if one act of assistance is really enough? This is a second-year against a first-year, after all……"
"Then I'll help too~"
Serne burst out as if she'd been waiting for exactly this cue, latching onto Simon's right arm.
"I'll give Simon one form of help as well. In exchange, if Simon loses, the successor of the Ivory Tower kneels. Fair enough, don't you think?"
"Serne!"
Simon couldn't fathom what had gotten into the two of them.
Hm.
Andre's lips curled as he raked his lecherous gaze over Serne and Lorraine.
Winning would be enormous news. The humiliation of those two monsters would follow them for the rest of their lives, and his name would be invoked every single time it came up. He would stand tall as the icon who had watered down Kizen and the Ivory Tower alike—and then every anti-Kizen faction in the Dark Alliance would take notice of him and throw their weight behind his cause. No one would dare sacrifice him to political scheming again. Having painted that picture of salvation for himself, Andre nodded.
"I accept!"
And so the duel was set: first-year Simon against former second-year Andre. Simon would receive one act of assistance each from Lorraine and Serne, while Andre would fight at full strength.
What followed was strategy time.
"Take this one."
Lorraine handed Simon one of her daggers, its blade dyed deep crimson along its entire length.
"It endures any kind of impact in your place. I buffered it with my own jet-black. Each time it absorbs a blow, the red on the blade fades a little—and when the red is gone completely, it's an ordinary dagger again."
Simon took the dagger and swung it through the air. It was light, and it fit his hand beautifully.
"Thank you, Lorraine."
Barely had the words left his mouth when Serne, appearing suddenly at his back, pulled him into a fierce embrace.
A pleasant floral scent flooded in from behind, and Simon's entire body went rigid as a board.
"What is this supposed to be?"
Lorraine's brow knotted, certain it was some cheap little scheme.
"What does it look like~? I'm simply delivering my gift too."
Serne flashed a victorious smile, stretched her neck out long, and murmured beside Simon's ear in a honeyed voice.
"You remember, don't you? During our joint class last semester—when I taught you the Internal Jet-Black Eruption?"
"Uh? Uh, yeah."
"I'm giving you that effect, just as it was."
A moment later she released him. Simon felt feathers clinging to his body—or perhaps it was simply that his spirits soared, sharply and suddenly.
It was a kind of makeshift Compello effect.
With this…
His heart pounding, Simon gripped Lorraine's dagger tight.
…there's no way I can afford to just lose, is there?
He couldn't judge for certain without knowing a Kizen second-year's true strength, but even so, he could feel confidence welling up inside him.
While Simon took stock of his new tools, the duel preparations moved forward at speed. The referee's role went to the royal head steward, himself a Kizen alumnus of years past. The rules were identical to Kizen's Duel Evaluation: using forbidden dark magic or leaving the designated boundary meant disqualification, and victory went to whoever forced a surrender or incapacitated their opponent.
Before long, Simon and Andre emerged, preparations complete.
Andre grinned.
"Oh, right! We should put a little wager between the two of us as well, shouldn't we?"
"By all means."
"If I win—how about you quit Kizen? You wrecked my life, so the reverse should hold too, don't you think?"
Perhaps because he was a man with nothing left to lose, Andre was staking larger and larger sums as the night went on.
At the word expulsion, a murderous gleam flashed in Lorraine's eyes. Serne, on the other hand, seemed to find the proposal rather appealing, arms crossed, only the corner of her mouth curling upward.
"And if I win?"
"Name anything."
Simon quietly tapped the shard of Pier hanging at his chest with the tip of his finger. Pier conveyed his suggestion into Simon's mind, and Simon agreed to it.
"Among the dungeons existing within the territory of the Dresden Kingdom—"
Quietly, so that no one else could hear, Simon laid out his terms.
"I would like you to grant me the exclusive exploitation rights to one dungeon of my choosing."
"……!"
Andre's expression turned dizzy.
That meant he would have to hand over any dungeon Simon named—and the value of a dungeon was nothing short of astronomical.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking for, boy?"
"Then decline, and we're done here."
Andre bristled. Where Simon radiated confidence, Andre believed this was a fight he absolutely could not lose—a duel on which his own salvation depended.
Drawing the letter R across his chest, Andre declared:
"In the name of the Dresden royal house, I accept Simon Polentia's terms!"
Before the eyes and ears of the gathered crowd, Andre made his promise. Then the two of them quietly turned and walked apart.
[KHAHAHA! And here I thought we wouldn't be visiting that dungeon anytime soon—things have worked out beautifully!]
Pier spoke inside Simon's head.
The dungeon the two of them had chosen was, with high probability, the hiding place of a new Ancient Undead. The kingdom held its exploitation rights and guarded access to it with an iron fist—there had been no way in. Never had they imagined a perfectly legal route would fall into their laps like this.
Of course, that's all assuming I win.
The two combatants put distance between themselves and faced one another.
[There's no turning back now, boy! And your opponent will come at you with everything he has—no carelessness to be found.]
"Yes."
Someday he would have to fight Magnus too, and the second-years were a mountain he would have to cross sooner or later regardless.
Simon took his fighting stance.
I will win. Without fail.
The head steward raised his voice.
"Then we will now begin the duel between His Highness Prince Andre and the student Simon Polentia!"